


This

by Jastiss



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, Suggestive Themes, minor feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 10:17:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10091900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jastiss/pseuds/Jastiss
Summary: The war room: typically a place for scouting new areas and planning assaults.  When it comes time to flush Corypheus from his hiding place and end the nightmare for good, it suddenly becomes a place for an ex-Templar to come to grips with the varying emotions Inquisitor Trevelyan has drawn out of him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this tumbling around in my mind for so long now. Cullen is intended to be an adviser, obviously, but how rational can a person be when their love is preparing to go up against a big nasty? Especially when that someone is also recovering from lyrium addiction? It flows disjointedly, but not quite into the realm of stream-of-consciousness. Just a little something to get my creativity flowing again. I have no beta, so if you see something off (even rereading and editing as many times as I have, I'm sure I missed something) let me know so I can fix it.

This wasn't like anything he had ever experienced in his life.

This wasn't like the sharp spike of panic when she'd collapsed in the snow not far from their makeshift camp beyond Haven, the panic that hadn't abated until she began to breathe evenly in his arms, encircled by his warmth as he carried her.

This wasn't like the fear that she was going to be disgusted with his past. It wasn't like the pain of the lyrium as it fought to retain its hold on his body while his breath caught, waiting for a reaction from her to accept or deny what he'd lain at her feet.

This wasn't like the anxiety and guilt of seeing another letter from Mia, undoubtedly cursing him for neglecting to write again.

This wasn't like the overwhelming love he felt as he stared into her quicksilver eyes upon waking from the horrid nightmare that followed that first night of passion. She was there, she had stayed to guide him through the darkest reaches of his own broken mind. He watched her stand, smirk and head toward the ladder to his formal office with a new swing to her hips. The sky beyond the hole in his roof was so clear and blue that day.

This wasn't like Adamant, where they had planned a precision siege on an old fort that had withstood many Blights, but not modern siege equipment.

This wasn't like the roil in his stomach, the shattering of his heart that accompanied the news of her falling into a rift and not returning for hours. The jagged stone had scraped bloody wells in his knees that day where he had fallen to them in utter shock. Not her. Maker, please, not her.

No.

This, instead, was all of the above and yet none of it at the same time. Cullen spoke and moved pieces across the map of Thedas on autopilot, eyes trained on Mel. Leliana and Josephine regaled them with talks of plans, ally and scout movements, the status of Corypheus's armies and the whereabouts of the magister himself. When not in motion, his large hands gripped the pommel of his sword with ferocity to keep himself grounded. Hands that had, just hours ago, run over her muscled body in their frenzied coupling after which she sobbed in his arms that she was terrified. Cullen guessed that pulling his hair out amid a war meeting surely wouldn't do.

Across from him, Melisande's face was impassive, full painted lips set in a hard line as she mulled over the situation and the information being dumped on her shoulders. As they lay in bed one night, she had confided that she felt at odds with her advisers here at the war table, always staring across from them rather than being grouped together. There was no solidarity, she said. Cullen longed to stand beside her, but they had agreed to keep their affairs private, so he willed her to pick up his silent support.

As if on cue, her eyes lifted, meeting his own. Cullen quirked a half smile in her direction, returned with an almost imperceptible one of her own. That would have to do.

An outsider wouldn't be able to detect the changes in the Inquisitor's demeanor. Cullen, though... he knew her. He could see the cracks in her defenses widening. She jerked her hand through her jet black hair every few moments in frustration. He saw the workings of her jaw as she gnawed on the inside of her lips. Long, pale fingers twitched, hands straightening out invisible folds in the map as she studied the intricacies of war. The eyes he loved narrowed in concentration, but he could see the underlying fear there...

The fear that Corypheus would catch them unawares.

The fear that innocent lives would be lost.

The fear that she wouldn't return from the final conflict.

The Commander felt it, too. The panic, fear, anxiety, guilt, love and dread that she had brought out of him compressed now into raw emotion. It frayed his nerves, made him curse the Maker he normally prayed to for having to deliver this extraordinary woman to the enemy, gift-wrapped. Melisande touched so many lives, desperately trying to make whole what had been lost. Innocents never suffered at her hand and even their enemies received fairer judgment than they would see anywhere in Thedas. She had flawlessly taken every demand made of her, sacrificing herself to become an image without a single protest. How lucky they had been.

Now, they would flush Corypheus from his hiding place, granting him a chance to accomplish his loftiest goal: the death of their Inquisitor. _His_ Inquisitor.

Madness.

Melisande, to her credit, was outwardly confident. Fire raged behind silver eyes at the prospect of exacting revenge their enemy, striking a blow for the many that had been lost at his hands. For a moment, Cullen forgot his fears. Mel took on the mantle of the Inquisitor once more, flashing him a broad, almost feral grin when Morrigan announced that she was able to match the magister's hellish dragon.

But then...

The world flashed green.

Melisande grunted at the sudden pain in her left hand.

The Breach opened, her mark spreading in an instant.

“It seems Corypheus is not content to wait,” Morrigan observed.

Static. Chatter. Melisande spoke, Josephine panicked and Cullen's blood rushed in his ears. The armies. Maker, the armies were still in the Wilds...

“Inquisitor,” he said aloud, impressed with the composure in his voice, “we have no forces to send with you. We must wait for them to return from the Arbor Wilds.” _Please, Mel, don't do this alone_.

He knew she would not care. She would not want to throw any more lives at the magister.

Melisande smiled, and his heart broke.

“I have to go, before it's too late,” she said, simply. “Keep them safe, Commander.”

So it came to be that she sprinted from the room, Morrigan at her heels. Cullen could hear her barking for Harritt to meet her at the gate in two minutes with her armor, shouting for her favorite companions: Cassandra, Iron Bull and Dorian. The advisers were left in silence, the females glancing sideways at Cullen for his reaction. None came; he was in shock.

This couldn't be the end. With a sigh, Cullen dropped to his knee and began the Canticle of Trials...

 

**Author's Note:**

> All rights obviously belong to Bioware or EA or whoever handles this. I borrowed a few lines of text and their wonderful characters, but they don't belong to me and I don't make anything from this.


End file.
